Chapter 1: The Dance Floor Claim
Ridge's thorough study of the wooden tabletop was interrupted by the attractive figure of the blonde woman who appeared at the other side of it. He looked up and gave a little gasp as he pondered the blonde bangs partially blocking his view of the woman's face. But what he could see was astonishing and, somehow, familiar.
Rebecca smiled down at him, appreciating the shape of his shoulders in his shirt and the line of his jaw. And especially his green eyes, piercing and bright. "Imagine running into you here." Rebecca's voice was low, husky, and amused. She leaned against the bar, her fingers tapping the wooden counter in a rhythm that matched the thudding bass of the club. The neon lights above us flickered, casting her in hues of violet and electric blue, her blonde hair catching the glow like a halo gone wrong.
Ridge blinked, still catching up. "Yeah, imagine that," he said, his tone dry but his eyes betraying a flicker of something warmer. He took a slow sip of his drink, the whiskey burning a pleasant path down his throat.
Rebecca reached out, her fingers brushing against his as she gently pried the glass from his grip. "Come on. It's me, Rebecca. Your favorite bookstore clerk."
Ridge blinked and then saw her clearly, embarrassed he didn't recognize her. Of course, he could claim he mostly took advantage of the view of her backside, but that didn't feel like a promising way to start the evening off. "Oh, sure, sure. Wrong context, completely different clothes. I'm Ridge." He stood, then realized he didn't know what the next move should be. "Can I buy you a drink?" He waved his hand at the seat next to his at the table.
"Or we could—"
Rebecca's laugh cut through the noise, sudden and rich, her voice cutting off Ridge’s attempt at polite awkwardness. "Oh, come on Ridge," she said, tugging at his wrist before he could finish the sentence. Her grip was firm, her fingers warm against his skin. "You’re standing in a nightclub, not a library. Let’s move."
She didn’t wait for an answer. With a tug that pulled Ridge off balance, she guided him away from the table, weaving through the crowd toward the heart of the dance floor. The bass pulsed through the soles of Ridge’s shoes, vibrating through his bones as the neon lights flashed in time with the music.
Rebecca’s hand still held his, her grip firm but not painful, her thumb tracing idle circles on the back of his wrist. He let himself be pulled into the writhing mass of bodies, the heat of the crowd pressing in from all sides.
She turned to face him, close enough that her perfume—something sweet and citrusy with an undercurrent of something darker, like amber and old books—flooded his senses. Her lips quirked into a smirk. "You look like you’re about to bolt. Relax."
Ridge exhaled, forcing his shoulders to unclench. "I don’t dance."
"Liar," Rebecca shot back, her grin sharp.
"You look like someone who dances—just not very well." She pressed closer, her body swaying slightly to the music, hips rolling in a slow, deliberate motion that made Ridge’s pulse jump.
He swallowed. "That’s not an improvement on my dance skills."
"Then don’t dance," she said, stepping even closer, her breath warm against his ear. "Just stand there and let me do the work." She slid a hand up his chest, her fingers splaying over his shoulder, pulling him in.
The air between them crackled. Ridge’s hands found her waist almost without thinking, his palms settling against the soft fabric of her dress, fingers brushing the bare skin above her hip.
The heat of her seeped through the thin material, and he could feel the rhythm of her breath against his collarbone. His own pulse hammered in his throat, a betrayal he couldn’t silence.
Rebecca tilted her head back, her lips parted just enough to let the music spill out in a breathy laugh. "See? That wasn’t so hard."
Ridge exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly. "You make it surprisingly easy." Then he pulled her still closer as the music slowed and the lights dimmed. His fingers flexed against her bare skin and she literally purred against his chest.
Rebecca whispered to his shoulder, "You really were lying. This is *good*." Ridge drew back and studied her eyes, then went so far as to sweep the blonde, nearly platinum bangs from them so he could see them in the dim light.
"Maybe it helps when I actually know the song." He grinned self-consciously. "And I wasn't kidding, holding you like this is not a difficult thing."
Rebecca tucked her nose against his neck. "Almost like I fit right here." Ridge took a deep breath and worked on memorizing her scent. Her hands slid up his back and she whispered again, "You don't dance like a sci-fi geek." Her lips brushed the edge of his collarbone as she spoke, leaving a faint, teasing heat in their wake. "You move like a man who knows his way around a body."
Ridge exhaled, the sound half-laugh, half-groan. "That’s not a line I’ve ever been accused of using before." He tilted his head slightly, giving her more access to his neck as her fingers traced idle patterns along his spine. "What exactly does a sci-fi geek dance like, then?"
Rebecca’s laugh was low, throaty, edged with mischief.
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her fingers still tracing lazy circles on the back of his neck. "Oh, you know. All stiff limbs and overcompensating shoulder shimmies. Like they’re trying to mimic a robot that just got a firmware update."
Ridge bark-laughed, his chest shaking against hers. "That’s… actually not inaccurate." He shook his head, amused. "What about *you*? What do *you* dance like?"
She smirked, rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate motion that made his grip on her waist tighten instinctively.
"I dance like a woman who knows exactly what she wants."
Ridge’s breath hitched, the words—the *truth*—of her statement hitting him low in the gut. He swallowed hard, his thumbs pressing just a little deeper into the soft curve above her hip bone, pulling her closer until there wasn’t a breath of space between them. The heat of her was unbearably intoxicating, the kind of distraction that should’ve been illegal.
Ridge went still and looked down at her. She unflinchingly returned his appraisal, then tilted her head a little...a request...a suggestion. He took it and leaned down to kiss the corner of her mouth. When he drew back and looked again, her eyes were crinkled with delight and her smile was predatory. She murmured softly, "Good boy." The words were a velvet purr that wrapped around his ribs and squeezed. Rebecca's hand slid up from his chest to wrap around the back of his neck, her thumb brushing the pulse thundering there as she guided him into another kiss—this one deeper, hungrier, the kind of kiss that would melt steel, given time.
Ridge groaned softly against her lips, his hands tightening on her waist as he let himself be pulled under. The music pulsed around them, the bass vibrating through his bones, but all he could feel was the heat of her body pressed against his, the taste of whiskey on her tongue, the scent of her skin like old paper and something wild.
Rebecca’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just enough to tip his head back, her lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. "It's your fault, you know, " she whispered. "Based on your book selections, you're definitely someone I want to know."
Rebecca's fingers traced the corded muscle of Ridge's neck, her thumb pressing into the hollow just above his collarbone. "You want to come in after hours? We could discuss literary merits over something a little more... personal." She bit her lower lip, her blue eyes darkening with suggestion.
Ridge swallowed hard, his grip on her waist tightening reflexively. The raw confidence in her voice should’ve been intimidating—or at least unsettling—but instead it sent a jolt of heat straight through him. He exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. "You're not subtle, are you?"
Rebecca's grin was all teeth. "Life’s too short for subtlety. You're scared of your own shadow. If I didn't prod you, we would never talk. And then, miracle of miracles, you're in the club I decided to visit tonight." Her next kiss was soft and wet on the point of his chin. "Sometimes, you have to take what the universe offers up."
Ridge's hand slid up a little, just enough to go beneath the hem of her dress. He squeezed the back of her thigh. "Not a lot of literate, sexy as fuck sci-fi geeks in my neck of the woods." He squeezed again and murmured. "You should understand why I might be cautious in new situations...".
Rebecca shimmied against his hand, ensuring he got his money's worth when he caressed her. Then his hand moved just a little more, enough to discover she wasn't wearing underwear. She felt his hand move and grinned up at him, her bangs covering her eyes again. She hissed softly, "Surprise...".
Ridge's eyes widened a little and he nodded. Rebecca's own eyes went wide as Ridge's thumb pressed on her clit, then began circling it slowly. She lowered her forehead to his shoulder and ground a little against his thumb.
“I love surprises,” she said. “You’re full of them tonight.” Her legs shook slightly before locking around his thigh to hold her up. “But if you keep that up, I’m gonna miss the second half of my favorite remix.”
Ridge chuckled, the sound rough against her collarbone, and shifted his thumb in a tighter circle. “Then you best come quickly.” He leaned down and kissed the other corner of her mouth. His tongue followed the seam of her lips, tasting whiskey and something sweeter, wild and citrusy, like bergamot in the rain. Rebecca gasped into the kiss, her fingers tightening in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp just enough to make his skin prickle.
The bassline dropped, the music swelling into something darker, slower, and Rebecca broke the kiss with a sudden gasp. Her chest heaved against his, her breath hot and uneven. ”Too close to the edge for my liking,” she murmured, pressing her forehead to his shoulder again, eyes squeezed shut. She let go of his neck and placed both hands flat against his chest, holding him at arm’s length.
Her blue eyes were wide—laughing, glazed, full of something that looked a lot like wonder. The neon light fractured across her face, painting her in streaks of violet and electric blue. Ridge was still breathing hard, his fingers flexed against the soft expanse of her thigh, thumb still pressing in slow, maddening circles.
Rebecca exhaled through her teeth, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something clever but couldn’t quite gather the words. Instead, she bit down on her lower lip—hard—then dropped her forehead against his shoulder again. A shaky laugh escaped her.
"Damn. You really know how to make a girl forget where she is."
Ridge’s thumb stilled, though he didn’t pull away. His voice was rough, amused. "I was under the impression you were the one making *me* forget everything else."
Rebecca groaned into his shoulder, her nails flexing against his chest. "You’re impossible."
"Or just honest?" Ridge murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear before pulling back to meet her gaze. The neon light caught the glint in his eyes, turning them into something sharp, something dangerous.
The song shifted again, the beat kicking up with a sudden, driving force that sent the crowd into a frenzy.
Bodies pressed in from all sides, the heat of the dancers radiating like a furnace, and Ridge felt Rebecca’s chest rise and fall against his as she struggled for breath. Her hands flattened against his chest, not pushing him away, but anchoring herself—just in case.
He dropped his grip from her thigh, letting his fingers slide up the curve of her waist instead, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts as he did. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back. Just exhaled sharply through her nose and tilted her head back to look up at him, her lips parted like she was about to say something scathing—or maybe something filthy.
Ridge extracted his thumb from between her legs and made sure that she could see him suck on it, his eyes intent on hers. Ridge rasps to her, "Mmm--that tastes promising." She just stated at him, her blue eyes wide, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts in the middle of a crush of people.
Rebecca resumes her predatory smile and puts her arms on his shoulders, allowing her fingers to toy with the short hairs on his neck as he sucks his thumb. The crowd pushes them closer together and she leans up to kiss the knuckle of his thumb.
The tip of her tongue sneaks out to taste herself on him, her blue eyes never leaving his. “You’ve got a filthy streak, Ridge,” she says, her voice half-amused, half-hungry. “I like it.”
Ridge groans, his grip on her waist tightening just a fraction. “You’ve got no idea.”
The bassline thrums harder, the strobing lights flashing faster, painting her in jagged slices of violet and blue. Rebecca’s fingers dig into the short hair at the nape of his neck, her nails grazing his skin. “Then prove it,” she challenges, her lips curling into a smirk.
Ridge's next kiss is dead center on her mouth, pressing his hard, His tongue slides along the seam of her mouth until she opens for him and they are dueling slowly. His hand returns to her backside and he moves it even higher, getting a firm grasp on her buttock. Rebecca's eyes grow large then hooded as she accepts Ridge's worship with lips and fingers.
Still otherwise unmoving on the dance floor, a couple stumbles into them and breaks them apart for a moment. Rebecca doesn't hesitate, grabbing his free hand and tugging him off the dance floor. Before he can say anything, she's leading him towards the front door. Ridge's eyes focus on her ass, appreciating how her body moves beneath the short tight dress, as she pulls him out the door and into the parking lot of the club.
The cool night air hits him like a slap, stark and welcome after the heat of the club and the press of bodies. He takes a deep breath, the scent of exhaust and distant rain sharp in his lungs.
Rebecca turns to face him, her heels clicking against the pavement as she steps back into his space, as close as she was in the club. She tips her head up, studying his face in the flickering neon glow from the club’s sign above them. The light paints her in streaks of violet and blue, making her blue eyes seem almost electric.
Rebecca says, huskily, "Tell me those science fiction and fantasy books you buy are for you, and they aren't like gifts for a cousin or something."
Ridge is taken aback by the tangential question. "Yeah...yes, they're for me. Been reading science fiction since I was six."
Rebecca leans up and gives his lips a soft peck. "You're coming home with me. You owe me at least one orgasm for the unfinished one on the dance floor. And we'll see where we go from there." She turns and tugs his hand again, pulling him out onto the sidewalk and up the street. A few cars honk as they go by, but Ridge is mesmerized by the delightful creature tugging on his hand, so follows along amicably.
When they reach the familiar bookstore, Rebecca tugs him around the corner to a separate door. She opens the door and tugs him up a steep flight of stairs, letting the door close behind them with a resounding thud.